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My Big Fat Life – Empty Space

In Uncategorized on October 4, 2017 at 12:37 pm

I have a bit of writers block lately. It seems my head is busy with other things and I can’t seem to really think about anything else. Mostly it’s a crazed haze of words that make no sense to anyone else but me, and I am not even sure if I understand it all.

I’ve written at least three different paragraphs here and deleted them all. It kinda feels like looking at sink full of super dirty dishes and not really wanting to touch any of them, and not even sure which one to touch first so you can clean the damn thing. That is pretty comparable to my mind today. My mind is a dirty dish. Dear god..

Okay so I left that one as an example of where I am right now. It’s pretty lame, right? This is what I’m working with today.

Okay, let me try again..

(10 minutes later after stopping to play Tapped Out (The Simpsons game app), plugging in my phone and downloading the new iPhone update)

…..

(Got up and took laundry from dryer, started new load of wash, got a cup of water, kicked dog off bed after he started to clean himself, looked in cupboards, flipping through YouTube…)

…..

(got another cup of water, watched a few Judge Judy videos on YouTube – I don’t even watch Judge Judy, played some more Tapped Out)

Well, since I spent so much time getting this blog written, I need to go and get dinner in the oven so it’s done on time and then take a shower.

 

 

 

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My Big Fat Life – The End of the World, and Zits

In Uncategorized on September 22, 2017 at 3:24 pm

Today I had to get an ultrasound to see how well behaved my ever bitchy uterus is behaving. As I carefully walked into the building with my full bladder praying I didn’t cough or sneeze, I also prayed the ultrasound tech listened to my request when I made the appointment. I have no idea why, other than the tech likes to fuck with people, but on the ceiling above the table he plays this loop of photos he took. ALL are of water. Fast rushing waterfalls, lakes, streams, you name it. Last time I asked him about it, he was offended and defensively stated they were all photos he took. I wasn’t giving my arm chair photography opinion on the photos, I just asked why he had photos of water above a table with a woman sprawled out trying not to pee all over the floor as he pressed his wand over my bladder like he’s trying to uncover a secret like f*cking Indiana Jones.

I checked in and decided not to sit down, but to lean against the wall while I waited. I couldn’t reassure myself that if I sat down that I could get up with ease. So while I was leaning against the wall, I couldn’t but help hear a family with a screaming toddler as they passed by. An attractive pregnant woman strolled over to the seats as her husband and screaming child took place next to her. I figured she was there for her pregnancy ultrasound and wrote my assumptions as I looked their way. Praying my turn would happen before I suddenly caught the worlds fastest cold and started sneezing, I continued looking at the family. Not because I am a creeper, but because in a very fast chain of events she immediately put her hands on her hubbys face as though she was examining him. Within seconds this attractive pregnant woman started popping her husbands zits on his face. In the waiting room. In front of us all. I thought perhaps he would pull back, but nope. Instead he leaned in and let her go to town. When she was done with his face, she started examining the top of his head. He leaned in further and put his head down for her as she proceeded to pick whatever it was she was picking off the top of his head in this weird zoo like fashion. When she was done with him, she turned her attention onto herself and openly popped whatever it was she could find on her arms. Suddenly sneezing was no longer my focus, but this intimate public display of bonding I had never seen before.

When the tech finally called me back, I was rescued. Seeing he didn’t have the display of photos lopping on the ceiling, I felt even more confident that perhaps my bladder wouldn’t provide my own bodily display of horrors.

I don’t know the results yet, because you know how it goes. There has to be a really long wait, followed by an entire weekend of questioning your life and resolving not to worry about things until they tell you to. I don’t think anything is really wrong, but they did find three lumps that the tech made sure to stop and take several measurements of. Again, I don’t think anything is wrong, and chalked this up to a passive shot at me for requesting the bladder explosion inducing pics not be shown during my tests (let me have this one), 

After finally being able to get up and get dressed, I emerged from the building without seeing Mr & Mrs Zit Popping Daddies and jumped into my car. On the drive home it dawned on me that tomorrow marks two things: Another “end of the world” prediction, and the anniversary of my marriage to the muse of this of this blog birth. It sorta freaked me out as I did the math quickly in my head and realized tomorrow we would have been married 8 years had it worked out. As I reflected upon that fact, I realized that if two women getting married didn’t bring an end to the world, chances are it’s going to survive tomorrow and I’ll still be morally obligated to beg the teenagers to bring me the laundry from their room before it self destructs out of depression, and the entire inventory of cups in the house. 

I don’t regret that we didn’t stay married. It was, in fact, best we had never married to begin with. We were together weeks when we did, and it was my one and only U-Haul experience. I don’t really even regret getting married to her either, because my take away didn’t require a U-Haul and I still carry those lessons with me. Some of it is baggage, I am aware. I think we all have that one box of shit left in the middle of the floor that when opened would reveal some scars. I’m still unpacking those boxes, but I figure it’s really only a major issue if I leave them in the middle of the floor and start walking around them instead of opening them up. Sorta like a zit…

My Big Fat Life – When the alarm goes off, but you don’t 

In Uncategorized on September 8, 2017 at 8:09 am

I’m still somewhat dealing with this dumb whatever it is, and finally went back to see the Dr. he said it sounds like a small portion of my long collapsed from coughing, and took X-rays to make sure there wasn’t something brewing. Thankfully there was noting to write home about, and so it’s just hanging out until it finally decides it’s bored with my body and disgusted by my diet of chips and coffee. 

Yesterday we had a severe thunderstorm warning that freaked me out. As you know Oregon is pretty much burning to ground right now, so the idea of more lightening just seemed like a shorty thought, but the “deadly to ground lightning strikes” didn’t exactly make me feel much better. I’m deathly terrified of thunder. Yes, I know it’s just a noise, but it’s a really loud noise, and I recall some storms with thunder so loud it shook the Josie. Combine the loud noise with the warning of deadly lightning, and it equals me reverting to a 5 year old that wants to hide u see the bed. Only problem is I have to pretend I’m not that scared, because I have kids who are depending on me to not be. Thankfully we only had rain and wind, and somehow missed the thunder and lightening. 

By the time the threat of being struck by lightning in the streets passed, and my imagined eulogy that included a funeral sponsored by Doritos & McDonalds Frappes, I started to feel a little dizzy so I sat in the front porch with the dog for a bit to catch of the clear air. Being able to breathe just air and not residual forest fire smoke isn’t  something we haven’t had much of in Oregon since the fires have spread like crazy. I just felt like absolute crap and figured my body was taking a clue from my lower left lung, and collapsed on my bed. That was somewhere between 6 and 7pm last night. I woke up at 1:30am, let the dog out, and went back to bed.

I’m not exactly sure how I managed to not hear my alarms this morning, but I sat up at 7:15am and realized the kids missed the bus, and quickly woke everyone up to shuttle them off the school. Thankfully they weren’t late, but as I drove them while wearing yesterday’s makeup and sporting hair that looks like I stopped caring, I realized that I feel a little better and I’m not coughing as much. So that’s a good thing.

My hair, however….. 

My Big Fat Life – Black Lace Panties and Gummi Bears 

In Uncategorized on August 31, 2017 at 4:36 pm

Yesterday I attempted to do a make-up day. I had the cookies ready, I was gonna flop on the bed and get my rest on. As I drove the kids to school it was all I could think about. 

By the time I dropped the kids off and teturned home I had one of those pay-your-damn-bill–already-loser notices on my door. While somehow less offensive tha the dog crap of the day, I just rolled my eyes and muttered some obscenities to myself as I turned the key. 

Since my day wasn’t going to have the picture perfect setting for a day of chill, I decided to run tonWalmart and return something that was contributing to the clutter in my room. As I approached customer service in the somewhat empty store, I noticed a woman behind the counter looking as tired me ringing up stuff and throwing in a cart beside her. I thought she was probably doing returns and stuff and quirky asked myself who the hell would return such a huge bag of Gunni Bears while asking myself who the hell needed such a huge bag of Gummi Bears. I watched as she rang up a hige bag of chocolates, some cute booties, black lace panties, make-up, a fruit tray, and various other items. As she finished and announced “Thats five hunderd, twenty five dollars” to the clerk who was now ringing up return, the lady in line behind me remarked how big the bag of Gummi Bears was. Thankful I wasn’t the only easily marvelled by this, the clerk helping me replied to her co-worker “Wow. She tried to steal a lot this morning”. 

Are you kidding me? I was barely awake and some woman was already up and attempting to shoplift an entire basket of item from Walmart? Who was this woman? While stealing is obviously dumb and bad, I confess I had a bit of envy over her ambition before noon, not to mention her obvious plans for something exciting that included chocolate, black lace panties and an ungodly yet comically sized bag of Gummi Bears.  

I finished my return and a couple of other errands, and went home. I flopped on the bed hoping to at least make the most of what I still had and I’ll kid you not  my stupid alarms went off. It was the first Wednesday of the year and I had forgotten it was early release day. 

I still have hope that there’s a day in the next week that I come home to a clean house, silence, coffee brewing, my comfy bed and the remote where I reign as Queen of my personal utopia for day.  Since my daydream also includes the dog not following me to the bathroom and trying to push the door open like a total creeper, I doubt it will ever be that perfect, but I’m hoping for dangerously close. 

In the meantime, I salute Walmart woman. Even though she got caught, and rightfully so, something tells me she had much bigger ambitions for yesterday than I did, and I have to give her some props. Anything that involves black lace panties and that many Gunmi Bears, plus a fruit tray before noon had to be a pretty epic plan. Something tells me she was far more disappointed hers didn’t pan out than I was over mine. 


My Big Fat Life – First day of school crap. Literally. 

In Uncategorized on August 29, 2017 at 4:00 pm

Today was the first day of school for the kids. I’d been dreading waking up early again, but excited at the thought of hanging out in a quiet zone where I wasn’t telling people to stop fighting, and being able to hoard cookies for myself while lazing around to nurse whatever it is that still has me consuming Kleenex like it’s nose candy. I planned to live this out while watching an episode of a show I’ve recently fell in love with without interruption. By the way if you haven’t seen Girlfriends Guide to Divorce yet, watch it. 

In my excitement to get in the house and carry out my perfect plan to be as sedentary as possible while being blanketed in only cookie crumbs and void of being immediately greeted by conflict and complaint,  I locked my keys in the car. 

I called my insurance company for roadside service who in turn sent a guy named Mike out about an hour later. Mike came and unlocked the car door so my keys could no longer mock me from the front seat where they sat, so yay Mike! 

I opened the door willing to take whatever time I had left and make the most of it, only  be greeted by a howling dog and a pile of his crap. I guess he’s trying to step in and make sure the legacy continues. Asshole. 

(Mike) 

My Big Fat Life – He flirted with me! 

In Uncategorized on August 28, 2017 at 10:22 pm

It’s no secret I am eternally “cute”. I’ve never been the woman that gets called beautiful. I call it my own personal Debbie Reynolds Syndrome. While I’m chill with it now, there’s always that part of me that wants to be beautiful to that one person. I don’t even give a crap what others think past that one individual really. He’s why I put on make up, do my hair, try to look like I didn’t emerge from a garage sale explosion, and all those other things we women do to try and be attractive to the one person we have the feels for, so it’s weird to me when guys throw some attention at me, let alone like a dodge ball in 5th grade hell. 

Now, I’m pretty oblivious. I typically think someone is just being nice or write it off as “that must just be their personality” and all that other stuff. I don’t think I’m the most engaging woman on the surface, because I’m awkward as fuck when I meet people. But when someone starts saying things that are pretty in your face it’s hard not get what the end game is all about. 

When I was a lesbian flirting with women it was an entire different ball game (God it’s so hard not to make a joke about softball here). If you didn’t cinch the deal and reserve the U-Haul within two weeks, you’re friend zoned. There’s no guessing games when you end up having sex in the car after your first date, or she’s spending time asking you those get to know you questions over toast. It’s actually pretty cut and dry. If the lesbian eye lock didn’t happen in the club you know to move on, girl. 

So let me tell you what happened today…. I had an interview with someone opening a new business. When I first met him he was sorta flirty, but of course I wrote that off as his nature, so no big deal. At one point I put my glasses on so I could see some paper he handed me, and he was quick to jump in with “Oh, you put the glasses on. You’re not leaving here now” A bit flirty I guess, but people say stuff all the time and it’s usually pretty harmless in intent. It was after the interview he blew my phone up with those get to know you questions that add an element of excitement when you’re getting to know someone. I didn’t find it so exciting, in fact I found it odd.  In part because I truly don’t know how to handle attention from men when it comes at me; it’s not a game I ever really understood. It still feels forgeim that men might find me attractive, and it’s a lot like trying on a shirt that is twenty sizes too small when trying to make it feel completely not awkward as my boobs are busting open buttons and I can’t move my arms like that kid from A Christmas Story. That other part is I looked at my phone thinking “I’ve already got a person. What’s with this guy? Can’t he just tell by looking at me?”I seriously don’t know what my reasoning was with that thought, so I’m blaming my current state of physical health. Hell, let’s blame my uterus.  So when he sent a text suggesting some exchange of pics of an adult nature, I froze. With a woman I’d be all “Hey, girl… stop disrespecting me. If you don’t respect my relationships, you’re not respecting me”. Which is truth whether it’s male or female by the way, and I find it super unattractive anyways that people flirt with others who are invoked. The response I could muster was “I might be salty, but I reserve that for the person I’m involved with, and men off of Craigslist”.  

What in the actual f*ck? 

While it’s flattering when someone compliments because it’s sorta validating in a way,  I’m not looking to encourage attention past that. I can’t control what someone else says, but I can sure as hell control what I respond with. That shit is on me. I also just don’t want to deal with socially awkward situations as much as possible, because I suck at it. Confrontation is not easy for me. I’d avoid it all together if I wasn’t trying to be less of a doormat, and trying to change my old ways of just wandering off instead of working it out. 

I just seem to suck when it comes to attention from guys, and I’m totally at a loss. It’s not like men are some alien or incapable of having a coherent coversation. It’s just so weird! 

My Big Fat Life – Diane Sawyer on my ceiling 

In Uncategorized on August 27, 2017 at 5:35 pm

I’m writing this from bed where I fall somewhere between awake and sleeping at the most pivotal parts of a show I keep attempting to watch. I’m not sure if that’s an indicator that the show sucks, or I’m just too sick to care. 

I woke up this morning with a party going down in my sinus zone, which seems like a really bum deal considering I’m currently on antibiotics for something else equally dumb. A few weeks ago a tiny-itty-bitty splatter of spaghetti sauce hit my hand while cooking. I’m not even exaggerating about how small it was. An underdeveloped mosquito could have easily invited 20 others along and had a pool party, it was that small. Somehow that tiny-itty-bitty splatter that didn’t even produce a blister turned into the germ rave of satanic proportions and I found myself at Urgent Care a few days later sporting a fever and a swollen hand. Folks, cellulitis is a bummer. Even more so when there’s no cool story behind it; just some “I made sauce” hashtag. But alas, I lay here sporting a disgruntled uterus, so what’s being the host to  a few more disgusting and dumb fights with nature? 

I did manage to make it out today for a bit, but came home, stripped my clothes off and fell into bed. I’ve been swinging between coherent and waking up wishing the mid day rave in my face would get drunk and go home already. 

While laying here avoiding the living room which is really a lair for the teenagers and a loud TV,  I’ve come to realize a few things: 

1.) I wish my kids had better hearing.
 2.) Thank God school starts soon. 

3.) I’m out of coffee. Fuck.

4.) I really, really want to know where that set of keys I lost ended up. It’s driving me crazy. 

5.) I miss being onstage more than I realized. I climbed up and did some improv out-of-my-ass sets not too long ago, and I really missed it. It felt like I was visiting an old friend and I really shouldn’t take that long to go see again. Only I needed way better stories to tell that I practiced (like, actual writing a set) instead of relying on the extreme weirdness my life is at that exact moment. 

If I dared to add a 6th, I’d have to confess a few posters of my hero Diane Sawyer would bling my ceiling out pretty sweetly. Bonus if they were black light compatible. I’m kinda bored with the blank canvas desperately and silently screaming for a better paint job. 

Oh, and a black light for my room would be pretty awesome too. 

#AdultingNotAdulting 

My Big Fat Life – My uterus is a squatter 

In Uncategorized on August 21, 2017 at 12:36 am

I’ve always referred to my uterus as natures pocket. I guess it’s really more like a pocket to carry babies in before we have them emerge from our bodies like a gory scene out of a horror flick,  but not everyone can have a baby, so natures pocket seems like a more politically correct term. 

It wouldn’t surprise me if someday they find we have some related DNA relation to kangaroos. Maybe a million years ago a gorilla cross bred with a kangaroo and this is how it all came about which leads me to be both thankful YouTube didn’t exist then, and somewhat curious as to how that would play out. 

I’ve never understood why the uterus doesn’t just eventually fall out after a certain time. Like, when it realizes the baby thing isn’t just going to happen, or it’s just done because it’s tired of shoving kids out at the rate of a clown car or a Duggar. Both of which equally move at the same rate. Instead it just hangs out and acts like a squatter. My uterus is a squatter. 

The inability to naturally sluff this unusable organ is probably the only design flaw I would change if I could create the human body. Well, that and the fact I firmly believe boobs should stay put in one place at all times, which would end that odd nipple placement when wearing a bra on a cold day. 

I just don’t get why we have to pack it around like a hoarder when there’s no reasonable or practical use for it when we’re done with it. It’s like carrying around the wrapper from a Snickers bar years after ate it. We’re basically forced to hoard a squatter. 

Such bullshit. 

My Big Fat Life – Orlando Shooting & Church Activists

In Uncategorized on June 12, 2017 at 10:31 pm

A year ago 49 people were gunned down in a nightclub in Orlando. They were targeted because they were gay.

I don’t talk much about the LGBT community since I left it behind, but when I see headlines that scream of violence against those who are victims of hate crimes based on their sexuality my heart is reminded of the struggle of what it means to be gay in America. While it is true that gay people have it considerably better than in most countries, it still isn’t a very good threshold to measure progression when it comes to the acceptance of others based on who they choose to love.

I came across a Facebook page recently of a woman who claims to be an activist for God. Her name is The Activist Mommy. I checked out her page after someone posted a Change.org link regarding a plight to get her page removed from Facebook. I highly doubt it will do much because people still have a right to be an asshole in the U.S., and freedom of speech is a vital thread of what makes us so unique as a country. People have a right to their opinion, no matter how much a douche it makes them look. The perk is we get to see who people really are when it comes to such political and religious views, so we get to know who to avoid.

I read her page looking for some semblance of compassion or love, and it wasn’t a huge surprise I didn’t find any. I don’t think it comes to the surprise of any in the community that the church has long bred an attitude that tolerance is somehow acceptance. I don’t even like that word “tolerance” because it somehow equates patronizing in my mind. People who strongly believe in the church (I say church for a reason), feel it is their duty to show just how much they disagree with conceived sin, so they post memes on Facebook, make status updates, hit the like button on every article that validates their belief, and comments on news feeds. They shout a hearty “AMEN” each time the man behind the pulpit proclaims they are making a stand on sin, as though the louder they agree it equals wearing a badge of honor to measure their integrity. But… it’s not.

Even if you believe that being gay is a vile sin that you act upon, the bible is still very clear about how we are to love. In fact, the act of love is spoken more than any scriptures you might find to address that being gay is a sin, and yet it is the single most act that most people fail to do well. Whether in relationships, to strangers, our neighbors, and friendships. Heck, I will admit I often suck at being nice to people when I feel I am right about something and they are in the wrong. When we feel we are right about something, it trumps our ability to love actively. We get so fixed on being right, and proving it, that we forget there is another person involved in our actions; the person on the receiving end of our stand or response.

I don’t doubt that some of these people believe they are doing God’s work, and believe that they are making a change in the world. On the other hand I know they are not doing anything other than creating more anger, hurt, and validation that God is nothing more than an angry man who is more interested in hurting us creatures on a spinning blue marble, than loving us. Yet, isn’t love the basic foundation of His message? Let’s just believe for a moment that all people believe in God, but who would want to serve such an angry and quick to condemn deity unless we had the fear of eternal damnation looming over us? No one. That is why the message of love is the most important message of all. The simple act of love without condition is the hardest to do for us. Perhaps that is why it has been written about so often. The message has to be driven to us. Paul wrote letters to the church about it, and depending how you feel about the truth of the cross, God sent His son to show us. Just being kind to others can be a challenge, let alone loving others we feel are in the wrong. I also find that the actions people get most fired up are the ones they either struggle against themselves, or can’t ever imagine acting upon. The first lending to the belief that if they fight against it enough it somehow will create almost a hatred for it and therefore reduce the temptation, and the second because people always argue what they don’t understand.

Love isn’t “tolerating” or accepting the acts of another as correct or in alignment of our own personal convictions. It’s loving that person regardless of what we personally believe. Our morals are separate from the act of love. We can love someone and have no relationship with them outside of our feeling for them. In fact, at times that is the best for everyone involved. I love my sister, but I can’t have a relationship with her because I don’t agree with her choices. Her choices affect me when she chooses to use drugs. I don’t want that around me, or my family. But I do love her. I want the best for her, yet I know that a relationship with her is not the best for me. She does really dumb things when she uses, and has removed my ability to trust her judgement. Does that mean I am going to yell and scream some condemnation at her every time I see her? No. Does my lack of doing so somehow translate that I am accepting or tolerant of her choices? Nope. It means I love her, but I choose not to allow her choices to influence my daily life anymore.

I have spent a lot of time talking to people during my time in the community. I have asked questions, listened to stories, and hurt as I listened to the damage the church has done. A majority of people in the LGBT community have already heard the message. There is nothing new you can scream from a picket line or post on Facebook that is something new to them. Most of them were raised in the church and already know the message. Many of them are still Christians and long for a relationship in a church; for human connection. They have struggled in their hearts knowing the message of the church, and their natural attractions. They have been at war with themselves so many times, there is no new scar you can leave that will laid upon three more. What they haven’t heard enough of, is love.

Chances are if you move about in society, you have already come in contact with a gay person. The lady behind the register, the Dr. treating you at the hospital, the vet who cares for your pet, the stranger you bumped into at the store, the man behind the ticket booth at the movies who sold you your ticket to the movie you have been waiting to see for months…. you get the idea. Chances are you have already come into contact with someone who is gay. Did you need to know their sexual orientation to be kind to them? Of course not. The act of being kind requires no back story. It requires nothing more than consideration without prejudice.

Sometime ago I had an argument with my boyfriend. I can’t even recall what it was about because so much time has passed that whatever it was obviously wasn’t that life altering. It’s my nature to walk away when I get upset.I need to allow the logic to rise above the emotion so I can think clearly, and the only way I can usually get there is to walk away to a quiet space and just ride it out. It’s a good thing because I can be quick to say really shitty things when I get upset. I’ve worked hard to be more careful with my words, even though I don’t always succeed. The other reason is because I grew up not being allowed to show emotion, so I instantly just walk away because I am used to having my thoughts and feelings discarded. What I can tell you I recall about that day is when I stood up to walk away and he reached for me. He put his arm out, touched me and gave me a hug. I couldn’t even tell you what I was wearing that day, but I can tell you how I felt in that moment. One simple action that isn’t so simple when we are hurt gave me a sense of love, security and acceptance regardless if he was disagreeing with me or not.  He wasn’t showing me a message of tolerance, or acceptance, but love.

Just love.

 

The 49 people who died because someone didn’t know how to love:

Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34

Stanley Almodovar III, 23

Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20

Juan Ramon Guerroro, 22

Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36

Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22

Luis S. Vielma, 22

Kimberly Morris, 37

Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30

Darryl Roman Burt II, 29

Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32

Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21

Anthony Luis Laureano Disla, 25

Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35

Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50

Amanda Alvear, 25

Martin Benitez Torres, 33

Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37

Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26

Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35

Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25

Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31

Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26

Enrique L. Rios Jr., 25

Miguel Angel Honorato, 30

Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40

Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32

Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19

Cory James Connell, 21

Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37

Luis Daniel Conde, 39

Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33

Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25

Jerald Arthur Wright, 31

Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25

Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25

Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24

Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27

Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33

Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, 49

Yilmary Rodriguez Sulivan, 24

Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32

Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28

Frank Hernandez, 27

Paul Terrell Henry, 41

Antonio Davon Brown, 29

Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24

Akyra Monet Murray, 18

Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez, 25

 

My Big Fat Life – How the Hell Did I Get Here?

In Uncategorized on April 13, 2017 at 11:57 am

Two days ago I woke  of those migraines that I can only describe as one that if Shakespere were to have written about a migraine, surely it would have ended in a tragic, poetic Elizabethean death. I slept all day, and all night, until it finally broke 6am the following morning, which was yesterday.

Yesterday I had a meeting at my attorneys office. You might be wondering why I would need to sit in the office of an aottorney since my divorce is now 6 something yeas out, but this was the attorney that has been a more than just a an attorney to me. She has been a good friend through some of my darkest of times in the last 10 years. 10 years ago this year,  someone commintted a crime against my family. I don’t want to talk about the details, because it is still something I have a difficult time discussing on a public forum. , It was something pretty shitty to have happen, and the horrible human was sentenced to nearly 13 years for the shitty choices. One might believe that when the offender goes to prison that the people left in the path of their fury can finally heal and move on, but that isn’t always the case, at least not in mine. I’ve had to endure moving numerous times to avoid the stalking from the people who believe in their innocence, sit at the department of corrections to identify my family in photos that were receovered from their cell when it came to light that someone had taken recent photos of my children and sent them to this horrible human. I’ve had to constantly advocate for rights of victims in our state, and deal with private investigators who were hired to find us. Not long ago, the sister of this horrible human posed as a teenage boy to try and friend one of my chilren on Facebook, claiming to be a heart patient, as he is, and sent him a phone number to text because “my grandmother only let;s me text, not talk”. When my son told me of this conversation, I was skpetical and posed as my son for an hour of the conversation. I asked questions that I knew I could fact check, and sure enough nothing this person said could be found to be truth. This person even went as far to tell me “his” birthdate was a mix of my own children’s birthdates. I knew whoever it was, wanted my son to text from his phone number so they could trace it. A quick trace of the phone number that was given,  was traced back to this horrible humans sister, and once again I had to contact police to go have a talk with her and remind her that she shouldn’t be aiding this human to locate us. Needless to say, it hasn’t always been a smooth 10 years, and while I would like nothing more than for all of this to be behind us, I have to constantly be on my guard. It’s not easy to trust others, always wodnering in the back of mind if I somehow relax if that will be the one time I wish I hadn’t.

So there I was a few weeks ago at a government agency handing over very personal documents to the receptionist regarding my children and their care, and the receptionist starts talking to me. At first I thought she was nice, but something quickly felt off about the conversation. She was asking questions about my children that I thought odd for a receptionist to ask. Like where did they go to school, and things like that. I looked puzzled, I am sure, but then she asked me if I recognized her. Of course I don’t because 10 years has passed, and not to be mean, but girl has gained a shit load of weight. When I told her her I didn’t, she called herself out as someone that knew this horrible person, and testified at trial as their character witness. I was floored. She then proceeded to explain to me that she believed in their innocence (keep in mind this horrible human CONFESSED their crimes)  and she then looked down at our address and proceeded to  ask more personal questions about my kids and where we live.  I will spare you all the inbetween details, because I am so exhausted from talking about it, but it ended with me removing the papers from her desk and filing a complaint.

Fast forward to yesterday.

I sat in the office of my attorney, and another attorny while discussed a plan to remove the records from the agency, and how to put in place a protectoin to keep my family safe from being tracked down, yet again. Now keep in mind, I came back to this area a couple of years ago because my son was really sick. I needed to be near people that cared about us, and I knew would be supportive during the emotional up and downs of everything going on. I still fly under the radar for the most part, but the few times I have seen people they have been very gracious, and no one has made me feel like I did that day in that office. I never expected someone to confront me like that, no less from behind at desk while they were at work. Why someone even still believes in the innocence of a confessed offender is beyond me, but shows the mindset of these people who obviously lack common sense. I feel like I am dealing with the human version of North Korea as a collective.
While I sat in the meeting I felt removed from everything. I sat there and found myself wondering why the hell I had to be in this situation in the first place. How the hell did I end up here? This took place 10 fucking years ago. When will the advocacy stop? When will I just be taken at face value that this happned to us, and people care enough to want to help when it is in their powers? Why do I have to tell my story once again, and exploit all the pain and shitstorm to get people to understand this isn’t a fucking joke? Why do I have to feel victimized all over again, and again to get people to step up? I wanted to stand up from the table and just run out. I wanted to rush home, load a UHAUL, and just disappear once again. I wanted to scream, cry, and pull an iconic movie moment from The Elephant Man and scream “I am not a monster!”.

Instead I shut down.

I shut down so hard, I became indifferent. Anyone that knows me knows that when I become indifferent, I am beyond angry. I am angry, hurt, exhausted, and it’s the only way I can cope with the overwhelming emotions of being dogpiled by circumstances. It’s not a pretty place to be, but it is the only place I can find a haven to shift into auto pilot and continue with my life. Once I hit indifference though, I am pretty much done. All the small battles, all the hurdles, everything.. just become something I no longer want to deal with. That’s the thing about me though, when I need to face something I want to deal with it. When there is an argument, I want to make it right. When I have done a wrong, I want to make sure I own it, but when I hit indifference, I am just done. Yesterday, I was just done.

I know I can’t always be done with this, and I know I will have to advocate along the way, but omg I just want a life. I want to be able to live, and walk freely without wondering if someone sees me and reports back to the powers that be that want to blame me for whatever wrongs they feel in life. I want to stay in one place, love one person, establish a life where I can make connections in my community and just be. I want to just focus on life ahead and not have to constantly advocate because of my past. I just want this to all be over and move on.

I was thinking about all of this earlier today while I was driving. You know my ex, the one who inspired this blog, knew of my past. I believed her being in law enforcement somehow was the polar opposite of this horrible human, and that her job defined her integrity. I was wrong, of course, but it gives a glimplse into the level of betrayal I felt when I had to kick her out. I don’t trust people easily, and perhaps you can now understand a portion of why. Loyalty, and honesty are the two paramount qualities I look for in people I trust into my life. Without those I have nothing. There is nothing.

So yesteray while in full shut down mode, I went into McDonalds to have lunch. This might not seem like a big deal, but I don’t typically sit in McDonalds on my own. Not because I hate sitting alone, but I just don’t like dealing with people face to face in public. I went becuase I wanted to feel something.. anything. I wanted to feel apart of a crowd, and just blend in. Instead I sat there looking down at my phone trying only to look up when I was done eating and notice that the place had filled up. I still felt disconnected and so I just got into my car and drove home in silence. I wanted to go to bed, sleep, and just escape to a dream state reality where hopefully there was unicorns and ranbows covered in butterflies. Instead I went home and tried to figure out a way I can have a normal life. When my mental list proved to a be a grand failure, I did decide that this just can not continue. As much as I tried to pull myself out of my funk, it just seemed to stick around like lint to a new sweater.

I don’t know what the magic formula is for someone to have a normal life after going through such a shitty thing. I keep trying to stick to the future and look at all the good that is taking place around me, and it sucks so hard that I hit my feet while jumping a hurdle, but I am trying. If I could find a way to shift all the shitty to something ppowerful and good, I would because I am tired of running away. I am so very, very tired of the sins of others suffocating the goodness of people and joy from my life. I feel super lost right now, and somewhat discouraged that perhaps this is it. This is my life forward on. I don’t want it to be. I want to live out my life list, and know what it is like to just “be”. I want what others have, to see beautiful things, see places, meet people, and write a story that is void of pain and betrayal. I want to know at the end of it all, that I was able to know there are people out there who aren’t interested in hurting me, or take advantage of my hungry soul for all the things that nourish it.

I want to write a happy story.

How the hell did I get here?